


The Party

by violetnyte



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Birthday, Domestic Fluff, Happy Birthday HamletMachine!, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short little 'fic I wrote for Hamlet's birthday. Assumed post-series fluff. It's Cain's birthday, and he'll sulk if he wants to!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HamletMachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamletMachine/gifts).



Sacha had no goddamn right to feel that surprised about it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected to see the both of them there, not with the way Ethan invited everyone under the goddamn sun and then some, but he sure as shit hadn’t expected them to show up together. Deimos – back to being Aleks, now, he had to remember that, like the times he moaned _Abel_ in bed and earned a dirty look for it afterward – Aleks, mousy little thing, looking sharp and delicate as always in a designer suit, getting the door held open for him by _Praxis._ Whatever the fuckname he wanted to go by now, so long as he didn’t get drunk and grope Abel (Ethan, goddammit) like last year.

Whatever the fuck they were doing showing up together, and then fuck Ethan for just gliding over to greet them and say shit like, “Oh, I’m so glad you came!” and “How was the drive?”

Like he knew they’d be coming through the door at the same time, because Ethan sent out all the invitations while Sacha sat and smoked and drank beer by the condo’s pool.

Deimos – Aleks, goddammit, and if he forgot one more time he was draining all the champagne in one fucking go rather than waiting for the toast – Aleks offered a cream and blue wrapped present that looked prettier than the cake. Ethan took it, thanked him just as prettily, and gestured them toward the party.

And Sacha drank and smoked from his spot out on the balcony, because pretty princess Ethan insisted about the smell and the co-op board, like it was anyone’s fucking business what he did in his own home. He eyed the pool below with longing. Fuck the party, fuck the catering, fuck all the presents in their pretty complementary giftwrap offered by sales ladies with too much time and not enough sense.

Ethan found him out there not much longer. “Sacha? We’re about to cut the cake.”

“Fuck off.”

The former navigator smiled and stepped out on to the balcony. He eased the door closed behind him. “Are you nervous?”

“Why the fuck would I be?”

“I won’t make everyone sing,” he promised.

Sacha blew smoke right in his face. “Liar.”

The smile dropped into a thin, pressed line. “I asked if you wanted a party.”

He shrugged, because there was no goddamn way he was stupid enough to answer that question honestly. It was like some disease that infested Ethan every spring, soon as the snow melted and the birds started chirping, he started drawing up a guest list and calling caterers and making a big goddamn fuss over a randomly picked date when he forged his papers for Fleet.

“Sacha…”

“I said fuck off, _Abel_. I’m not going in there.” He lit another cigarette.

Ethan turned around and slid the balcony door open with a jerk. He ripped at the drapery to draw it closed, obscuring the view, before stepping back out and slamming the glass door, or as much as one could slam a door on goddamn wheels. Sacha paused, flame flickering at the end of his smoke, hands cusped around the trembling lighter.

“Ethan,” he said hastily. “Ethan—“

The force of it nearly knocked him over the railing. Ethan, all over him, hands and lips, pulling at Sacha’s hair and bending their mouths together. He dropped both the cigarette and the lighter to catch him, pull him tight, wrap him close, bury his mouth in the soft skin of his neck and breathe deep. He nipped at Ethan’s throat and felt the vibration as he moaned, practically purring for it. The patio chair clattered aside as Sacha groped for something to rest against besides the railing, too dangerous, and the glass, too exposed even with the curtains drawn. He found the wall separating their unit from the neighbor’s and pushed Ethan there with his hips, the man’s slim thighs going over his like the perfect fit they were.

Sacha fumbled at the fly of Ethan’s jeans, but a firm hand stopped him. “You’re suppose to unwrap presents after the cake,” said Ethan.

“Fuck that,” growled Sacha.

“It’s tradition.”

“Fuck tradition.”

“It’s red velvet cake, your favorite.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Sacha let him drop back down to the balcony. Wished he hadn’t dropped the lighter. Leaned over the railing some to look. Could imagine the co-op board’s newsletter, splattered with shitty clip art, reminding them to be careful when lighting citronella candles because no one else in pretty princess land smoked. Sacha mashed a hand through his hair, feeling frustrated and stupid with it. “It’s not even the right date, you know.”

“Oh,” said Ethan. Because he didn’t, clearly. Silver spoon presented to him at birth, the damned thing still kept in a glass display case along with a pair of bronze baby booties, and Ethan’s soft-spoken mother showing it to him every Christmas because Sacha lied about it being interesting and said things like _that’s nice, ma’am_.

And Sacha felt like an asshole, because he saw the sudden realization in Ethan’s face as he considered the guests and cake and presents, the singing, the way that Sacha always ended up on the balcony alone and smoking. The fact that it was the wrong date, something so basic as that, and they never spent Christmas looking at pictures of a chubby dark-skinned colonial brat, Ethan put all the pieces together and bit his lip. He looked ready to apologize, so Sacha cut him off quick by saying, “You can make ‘em all sing. If you want.”

Ethan smiled, hearing more in the offer than Sacha intended, or maybe just exactly what he meant for once. They kissed again, slow and serious, with Ethan’s head resting on his shoulder afterward while they enjoyed the stolen moment just a bit longer. Sacha put his arms around him, held him there, vowed next year he’d book some spring break cruise full of slutty gay carnival dancers to hijack the party planning and keep Ethan from even thinking about it.

Ethan kissed his cheek. “Next year, no party,” he promised. “Why did you never tell me you hated them?”

Because Ethan fucking loved them, duh. Sacha couldn’t say that, though, he just grit his teeth and glared down at the pool. “Liked getting presents,” he said.

It made Ethan laugh. “Happy Birthday, Cain.”

“Fuck off, Abel.”

They kissed again, and then Ethan dragged him out to finish the rest of the party so he could get to opening his presents. 


End file.
